


5 Times Jaskier Had To Prove Himself...

by WordsAblaze



Series: Witcher Fics [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (I love how that's a tag), (hinted at), 5+1 Things, Angst with a Happy Ending, BAMF Jaskier | Dandelion, Bisexual Jaskier | Dandelion, Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Apologizes, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geraskier, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Introspection, Jaskier | Dandelion Has a Past, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Needs a Hug, Jaskier-Centric, M/M, and geralt gives him one, because I say so, canary jaskier, i keep hurting the cinnamon rolls oops, no beta we die like jaskier doesn't
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-20
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23751052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WordsAblaze/pseuds/WordsAblaze
Summary: ...and the one time somebody made an effort to look past assumptions and come to a suitable conclusion themselves.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion & Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Witcher Fics [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1726360
Comments: 22
Kudos: 749





	5 Times Jaskier Had To Prove Himself...

**Author's Note:**

> I do have another witcher fic in progress but the idea of canary!jaskier would not leave me alone so here's this :)

**#1 - nothing**

Ever since he was born, people had told Jaskier, or rather Julian, that he wasn’t good enough. 

He had never been quiet enough or focused enough or anything enough to satisfy his parents. He’d tried, of course, he’d tried as hard as possible, but all his attempts had been in vain and he'd ended up worse off than before every time. 

And he’d fallen in love, as young hearts often do, but his first love had been words and the power, the poetry, the personality they carry with them, so nobody else could ever compare.

The first girl to supposedly fall in love with him had swooned when he’d first written her into song but a dozen songs later and she’d left him for another who gave her flowers and unwavering attention. 

The first boy to supposedly fall in love with him had grinned proudly upon being invited to perform to the local children with him but months later and he’d grown tired of the small crowds, left to seek the affection of a solo audience.

Julian had simply sung himself out of heartbreak. 

He’d sworn off promising loyalty to others and stayed true to his writing, his frantic midnight scribbling, his composing. And that had worked for a while, but his parents were not blessed with patience and they’d quickly tried to stifle his musical desires.

They’d forced him into being a perfect noble but perfection had come with the price of sadness, loneliness, restlessness, and he couldn’t do it. 

Quickly enough, his family had grown tired of him, constantly reminding him that he was nothing compared to everyone else and that his pathetic performances would always amount to nothing because if he couldn’t be who he was supposed to be, he would never be anything, always be nothing.

So Julian had slowly but surely detached himself from his life and, at the first opportunity, before his parents could officially disown him, run away. 

He’d run and run and briefly stopped to earn some coin here and there before continuing to run until he’d reached somewhere far away, somewhere entirely new, and he’d rebuilt himself to be something, to be Jaskier. 

And he’d made a name for himself.

Performing and composing and educating himself. Singing and rhyming and playing various instruments before settling on the lute. Trying again and again until people stopped to listen to him, smiled when they heard him and unfortunately, sometimes threw bread at him for being a nuisance. 

But that was just another part of being something.

It wasn’t entirely perfect but it was refreshing and it was living and it made him happier than anything else because it allowed him to be who he wanted to be.

Where the life of Julian had been filled with expectation and etiquette that came hand in hand with copious amounts of pressure, the life of Jaskier was wild and exciting and an exhilarating form of aimless. 

Most importantly, it definitely wasn’t nothing. 

He wasn’t nothing.

And no matter what happened in the future, Jaskier knew that he would never be nothing because his thoughts, his passions, his experiences were slowly becoming immortalised in song and there would eventually be no way to reverse his mark on humanity. 

Take  _ that, _ noble suckers.

**#2 - foolish**

Jaskier knew that witchers were meant to be dangerous.

That had been drilled into him when he was a child, through warnings of who would find you if you strayed from the path or sought out adventures that didn’t belong to you. 

But he had never stayed still long enough for any of those threats to truly take root in his heart so when he spots the alluring white hair and twin swords sitting in the corner of the tavern, he doesn’t even hesitate to make his way over.

Well, he finishes his performance first because professionalism is a thing, but that doesn’t really count. 

It doesn’t go as well as planned but he doesn’t get rejected outright and he takes that as an invitation of sorts. He takes it pretty seriously, even after being kidnapped and almost killed - after all, the adventure had allowed him to make sure neither he nor Geralt would ever be nothing. 

Naturally, people didn’t always approve.

They called him foolish, stupid, naive, to travel with a monster. They called him foolish, idiotic, senseless, to try and befriend a killing machine. They called him foolish, dimwitted, blind, to not see that he would never find peace with a creature of chaos. 

All he did was smile, sing, and take their coin. 

A part of him silently agreed with them, to an extent, because he kept his heart on his sleeve and Geralt was happy to let that be covered in blood and guts and who knows what else, so it made sense that he probably wouldn’t come out of it all with something as unreachable as love.

But he would never agree that Geralt was a monster or a killing machine, he simply did what he had been trained to do, what he needed to do in order to protect humanity. Sure, he wasn’t the friendliest of souls, but Jaskier knew that, deep down, he had a heart as golden as his eyes. 

So he sticks around and makes a name for the both of them, earning himself the occasional smile and many, many hums of agreement that somehow make him smile just as much as a good performance. 

And oh, the things he learns. 

Potions, spells, creatures, curses, and cures for the trouble they get themselves into. So much that he spends just as much coin on notebooks and ink as he does on everything else combined. Which is saying something, because he spends a fair bit on replacing ruined clothing or restocking oils that he ends up using on Geralt. 

But he wouldn’t trade his knowledge for the world. 

Not even what he learns of loneliness and anger and fear. Everything he learns is precious and he loves it more than he can explain.

And if nothing else, it proves he’s not a fool.

He’s a bard and he jests but he’s no fool for he knows how to always play exactly what people want and, if necessary, he knows how to play people to get exactly what he wants. 

He already knew how to make do and survive but he learns how to really live and over time, how to help Geralt live. 

So no matter what anybody says and even if he pretends it sometimes, he’s not foolish.

He’s  _ far _ from foolish, thank you very much.

**#3 - helpless**

It wouldn’t even take a whole hand for Jaskier to count how many times he’d been of use in a fight. 

It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to fight, he just wasn’t nearly as skilled as Geralt, and the monsters Jaskier was used to looked just like him, not like something from his nightmares. 

He usually stayed back, far back enough to observe and stay unharmed at the same time. 

After a while, he noticed that Geralt became attuned to him, to when he was excited, nervous, hungover, or anything else.

It was interesting, to say the least, when Geralt would stop glaring because he could sense the nerves rolling of Jaskier or when he would let them stop sooner than usual because Jaskier was in some sort of pain. 

He never really knew how to act when Geralt showed such kindness because it was far more than he’d ever known. That’s not to say he didn’t act at all, of course not - he showered Geralt in smiles and compliments and reluctantly accepted embraces.

But he never knew how to explain that he wasn’t entirely weak, that he knew how to carry himself forward even if his head was pounding, his pockets were empty, or his heart was in pieces. 

Geralt assumed he was fragile, and he made no move to correct him. 

So every time Geralt is away on a job and someone threatens him, he talks his way out of it. And every time Geralt is away on a job and someone kidnaps him - which happens far too often for his liking - he waits for them to underestimate him before escaping, using rowdy crowds or intense bedfellows to explain any wounds.

He understands, really, why Geralt had so quickly, like everyone else, thought of him as defenceless and breakable. But unlike Geralt, everyone else doesn't try to protect him, they just try to take and take and take.

Mostly, he lets them.

Every so often, he doesn’t.

And that’s usually because they’ve involved Geralt somehow.

Like the man who thought he could have his way with Jaskier after a blooming performance, only to drunkenly admit that he just wanted to see if he could be the first of his group to lay a hand on the butcher’s pet without losing it.

Jaskier had not been happy about that. For so many reasons.

But he hadn’t wasted breath in explaining his immediate hatred to the man, simply led him upstairs and none too neatly relieved him of that hand, changing the focus of his fear from a kindhearted witcher to the ire of a humble bard. 

Said witcher had returned to their room with a frown, wordlessly inquiring about the sharp tang of blood, but Jaskier had simply shrugged, hinted at helping with someone’s injury, and shifted the conversation to how foul armour can smell. 

And if the two of them had been met with furious, fearful looks the next morning, Jaskier didn’t care to explain. 

Nor did Geralt ask, for such looks weren’t exactly uncommon anyway. 

But Jaskier did take great pleasure in circling around the now-one-handed man’s table during his last performance at that tavern, immensely satisfied by how wary they were of his presence as compared to the night before. 

He  _ probably _ could have made his point without the blood and violence but at least they no longer thought of him as helpless.

**#4 - vain**

For Jaskier, vanity was a learned habit. 

Sure, his parents had taught him, forced him to act pin and proper, but they'd never managed to really make him vain. 

He'd always be teaching small children to sing instead of cry or braiding flower crowns with the little girls who weren't allowed to stray far from home like their brothers. 

And he never turned any of the children away if they wanted to talk or hear him play something, not even if it got him into trouble later. 

He learnt how to sneak apples to the horses and bread to the birds and flowers to the little boys who needed a smile because they didn't feel strong enough. 

Of course, that was Julian. 

After he forged Jaskier, he had to change. 

For it would not do to give away what little he had when there was no guaranteed shelter to return to and sometimes, the children just wanted passing amusement rather than a friend. 

So he learnt to seem vain; he found himself fancy doublets that would no doubt make an impression and he made sure his scent was always that of flowers and berries and anything sweet. 

It was easier once he’d met Geralt, for all he had to do was sing his own praises in embellished verse and the audience would believe he was naught but a peacock where Geralt was the warrior, the saviour. 

It hurt, sometimes, to hear the whispers of a white wolf and the vain bard he travelled with, but he tried to ignore them, slipped into the persona of a fool who cared only to entertain and be entertained. 

And, really, he was no stranger to vanity.

He would rarely hesitate to spend his coin on ale or fashion and he often claimed to be the merriest, most promising bard in all the lands.

He knew it was bold of him to travel with a witcher and throw insults at a witch and mess around with djinns but he had to, he always had to because those things were all bricks in the wall of his new personality and to stop doing any of those things, to lose his newfound vanity, would be a slippery slope to being Julian again, being nothing again.

Occasionally, he caught himself singing the simpler songs he’d made up as a child and paused to wonder what Julian would think of Jaskier, whether he’d be happy with the person he’d become, the life he’d found for himself. 

But then Geralt would throw something at him or pointedly clear his throat and those musings would be folded away for another day, replaced by incessant chatter or disjointed composing. 

Still, those moments were usually followed by Jaskier treating Roach to fresh apples. Or by Jaskier braiding flowers in Geralt’s hair while he pretended to sleep because a witcher could never audibly admit to enjoying such displays of vanity, even if he never deliberately shook the flowers away in the morning. 

And even if those small, selfless actions were rarely witnessed by anyone else, even one soul seeing his true nature was enough for him.

Because although he paraded in his defensive vanity, he would never  _ be _ vain.

**#5 - dead**

Jaskier was something of a paradox.

Everyone who spent a night with him would say he was bright, youthful, and filled with an energy associated only with those who have yet to experience the world.

Everyone who spent the day with him as well would say he was witty, clever, and filled with a strange sort of knowledge that only came from having experienced the world.

And so it was difficult for anyone to decide if he was younger and naive or older and wise. 

It didn’t usually matter because travelling with Geralt meant that they went where the contracts were and they rarely stayed in the same place for more than a mere week, during which nobody had the chance to really ponder the age of a passing bard, no matter how well-known he was.

But every so often, people noticed. 

Sometimes it was the children, who grew taller between his visits and were surprised to see his lack of greying. Namely one lion cub who would pester him to reveal his secrets so she could share them with the adults around her, but she was easily distracted, regaled with tales of danger and destiny. 

But it was mostly associates of Geralt such as Yennefer, who grew increasingly more confused at his presence, and not just because he eventually figured out how to insult her in return without pushing her buttons in a way that would endanger his life. 

It became regular for her to ask him why he wasn’t yet dead in a ditch somewhere every time they met, which was commonly met with a nonchalant smirk and sometimes, the low growl of a witcher. 

His replies were always vague, names of market vendors with new oils or healers and herbs known to reduce wrinkles and weariness. 

The only time he truly paid attention to anyone questioning whether or not he should be alive was when whispers appeared of a viscount’s assumed death. 

He followed the whispers when Geralt was occupied and found himself back where he had begun, a pathetic mourning in place for a lost son, a lost noble, a lost tool in the world of diplomacy. 

And he laughed. 

He laughed because his parents had, for one reason or another, waited years and years and years before announcing that their so-called beloved son had most likely been taken from them by the cruel hand of death.

Jaskier wanted to correct them, wanted to shout that no, Julian had not helplessly succumbed to some tragic fate but rather, had taken himself away, had willingly erased who he was in exchange for a life truly worth living. 

But he’d done nothing.

He’d turned back and returned to Geralt and settled for repeatedly reminding everyone that he was staying around to sing about Geralt’s adventures and misadventures for as long as he’d have them, thank you very much indeed. 

Once in a while, he’d catch sight of his reflection somewhere and wonder how he could look so similar and yet feel so different to who he’d once been, who he could never be again even if he really wished.

In the end, he never stopped to work it out, simply picking up his lute and continuing forward, continuing to sing and drink and travel and learn and  _ live _ .

**+1 - canary**

It took Geralt an embarrassingly long time to decipher Jaskier.

Well, not quite decipher him.

More like, come to an understanding deep enough to satisfy his curiosity and convince his instincts to stop puzzling things over again and again. 

At first, he thought nothing of Jaskier, assuming he was simply a fool wanting to see the world and figure out the mysteries of Witchers on his own. But then Jaskier continued to follow him and made him famous - made people love him - and Geralt had to abandon that thought.

Time passed and he learned that Jaskier needed more food than he did, needed more sleep than he did, needed more protection from monsters and humans and his own stupidity than he did. So he let Jaskier stick around with the implicit rule that he was to be protected, but then Jaskier asked a djinn to be a mercenary and that idea had vanished pretty quickly. 

He wasn’t sure what to make of Jaskier after that.

The oils and perfumes that he doused himself in should have made him vain and pretentious but he was nothing like the nobles whose parties they went to and Geralt found his own scent of steel and blood and horse being slowly but surely mixed with lavender and honey and something like sunshine.

He wasn’t exactly complaining, but it was strange nonetheless.

And there was something about Jaskier that he couldn’t place. 

Not something significant enough to worry his medallion but something more subtle, a distant alarm bell dampened by smiles and lutes. But travelling with Jaskier had taught him that the bard had no cruel bone in his body, not where it really mattered. 

So he stopped questioning Jaskier’s nature and instead took to accepting it, being forced to embrace it, eventually finding himself rather enjoying it. 

And then he ruined it.

He landed himself in a mess and blamed it on Jaskier and sent someone who had so thoroughly become part of his life away.

It was fine for a while but then he realised that the very singing he had claimed to hate was really something he missed, wanted back, desperately longed for. The scent of lavender became a dream and the silence he’d once loved became empty, vicious, a reminder of what he could so easily have kept.

There was nobody to dress his wounds and clean his hair and restock his supplies and although he’d lived that way for what felt like centuries, he found himself unable to go back to such a lifestyle. 

It was harder to find contracts because there was nobody to tell him where the danger was and every victory seemed pointless if certain blue eyes weren’t there to admire and tease and irritate him with their shameless curiosity. 

Hmm.

Turns out he needs Jaskier.

No, not needs - _wants_.

He wants to be plagued with singing and pestered with questions and sneakily provoked into doing whatever Jaskier likes.

Because Jaskier is a bard - the greatest bard of them all, if you ask Geralt - and he’s a nuisance and he’s a puzzle and he’s a friend but he’s also, in the White Wolf’s professional opinion, something of a canary. 

He’s small and bright and filled with life and he can have people, anyone from townsfolk to royals, wrapped around his finger as soon as he starts performing; he’s loud and restless but he’s soft and gentle and there’s a precious quality to him that makes him irresistible. 

And as soon as he’s gone, Geralt can’t be at peace.

It’s almost as if there’s something lurking around him and Jaskier acts like a warning, a lighthouse, a force of nature in and of himself.

So Geralt knows that, after silently wallowing in guilt and regret and hindsight, his only logical course of action is to find his canary again, to find Jaskier again. 

Which he does.

Slowly.

But surely.

And what feels like a small eternity later, he figures out where to look, where to find what he had so carelessly left behind, thrown away. 

It’s far from smooth and it’s almost painful the way they reunite but it’s also perfect because Jaskier seems to have been forged with forgiveness in his blood.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, promises, repeats over and over again.

In words and actions and smiles and everything else he can think of, because he wants, needs Jaskier to understand that the last thing he wants is for him to fly away again. 

Time and time again, because he knows he’s awful at communicating and he knows that Jaskier deserves better and he just wants to convey his appreciations and regrets and intentions properly.

“I love you too,” Jaskier replies.

And it doesn’t matter whether he tells Geralt quietly or loudly or any other way because it’s always the same song, performed differently but no less beautifully.

Jaskier has sung many songs over the years and Geralt would probably be able to name most of them but his favourite by far is the love that spills from Jaskier’s very presence, the love that Geralt never thought he would be so fortunately blessed with. 

For his love is a subtle song aimed at an audience of one and one only, and Geralt hears it in whatever Jaskier does because Jaslier is a canary, somehow _his_ canary, and he never really stops singing, even when he does.

And Geralt couldn’t ask for anything more.

So he welcomes everything that Jaskier is and everything that he isn’t and everything that he probably shouldn’t be allowed to be and he vows never to leave him again. 

Because Geralt  _ loves _ Jaskier.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked my portrayal of Jaskier, even if it's a little canon-deviant... (but he is and always will be something of a canary in my opinion)
> 
> Oh, and feel free to find me on tumblr - my witcher sideblog is @geraskifer :)
> 
> Thanks for reading! Toss a kudos / comment?


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